Rivers and Roads
by Heather F.C
Summary: Oliver Queen returned back to Starling City after being stranded on an island for five years. Felicity Smoak was recommended to the Queen family as his psychiatrist. Nothing would ever be the same again.
1. Chapter 1

** Chapter 1 **

She tilted her head and gave him a look. She was already used to this. Six sessions under her belt, and he was still borrowing from fiction. He wasn't even trying to use rare examples that she wouldn't be able to recognize. The first session, it was _Gilligan's Island_; he kept talking about how he tried to build a raft with bamboo he cut down himself and how he worked on fixing the radio he salvaged from the wreckage of the boat. Then it was _Robinson Crusoe_ and he talked about how he caught fish and built himself fire and a shelter.

She was surprised that it took her actually four sessions to realize what he was doing. She was taking notes on her iPad as usual, nodding occasionally, when he heard him talk about pine trees and mud, contradicting his earlier descriptions of palm trees and pristine beaches. He was explaining in detail the smell of the trees and how he slipped and fell in mud several times a day during his first days before his body got used to it. Then he talked about how he started hunting down small animals to eat with the hatchet he had with himself, and that was when she finally realized. Oliver Queen, the heir to Queen Consolidated, the self-described multimillionaire playboy who had just came back to Starling City after being stranded for five years on an unchartered island, was summarizing _Hatchet _to her. She had read the book back in high school so her memory was a bit fuzzy, but when he talked about a storm sweeping his shelter away, she was sure.

She lifted her head from her iPad and looked at him. He was lying on his back on the couch, deadpanning the synopsis of the book to her. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Mr. Queen, I think this is enough for today. Next time, please tell me about your own story and not some survival book you read in junior high."

That seemed to get his attention as he lifted himself and turned to look at her. When she put her glasses back on, she saw something she had never seen before. Oliver Queen was smiling. It seemed to be a genuine smile, not the kind he used to charm her assistant into delaying his appointments or those she saw plastered all over the covers of magazines. She expected him to deny it, or give her some sort of an apology. Instead he stood up, turned on his heel and was gone the next second.

She kept expecting that he would somehow actually open up to her, like he was supposed to, and tell her what really happened during his time on that island, explain to her the causes of the scar tissue that seemed to cover, according to his medical records, 20% of his body, but the very next session, he was talking about how he painted a face on a Wilson-brand volleyball and talked to it. She didn't even bother continuing the session and asked him to leave.

He didn't show up for his next two appointments. She had already given up on him when he showed up three weeks later in her office, sat down and talked about what seemed to be the first few episodes of _Lost_. The only details missing from his account were the smoke monster, the polar bear and the Dharma Group. She was sure if she didn't interrupt him, pleading with him to tell the truth, he would also find ways to incorporate them into his story. She had to give it to him though, he was a good story teller.

"So I told myself, 'every man for himself'."

She didn't mean to, but she snorted trying to hide her laughter. She didn't know if she was laughing because her most high-profile client was quoting Sawyer to her or because she was trying to replace her anger with amusement. It wasn't unheard of clients to lie to their psychiatrists to avoid confronting their own issues. As a professional, it bothered her. She really wanted to reach out to her clients and help them, but they weren't even helping themselves by avoiding the truths. Oliver Queen wasn't making things easier for himself, and was making it even worse for her.

She was pretty sure it all had to do with her age. Despite what the diplomas covering one section of her office walls showed, she had seen the look on his face when he first stepped in. She was used to it. Even though she had made a name for herself in medical and psychiatrical circles, it was hard to convince her patients. It was rather rare for a patient to accept that a young psychiatrist such as herself would have enough experience to help them with their problems. She thought that Oliver Queen would be an exception.

"And you are now quoting _Lost_. That's new."

He stopped and moved into a sitting position on the couch. He looked at the ceiling, then at the floor, and finally at her. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't.

"Mr. Queen, I watched the entirety of _Lost _twice, went to Comic-Con three times to see the cast, even ran a blog for a couple of years about my theories on the Dharma Initiative and the smoke-monster. You really should stop summarizing the show to me and start telling me about your island."

"It's Oliver. Mr. Queen was my father."

"Right, but he is dead. I mean, he drowned." she started, then realizing what she said, she paused and cleared her throat. "But you didn't, which is why you are here so that you could explain to me what happened on that island and I can help you."

He continued looking at her. That fake smile she was used to seeing was back on his face. "I think we are done here, Dr. Smoak." He got on his feet. "Thank you for your help." he said as he walked to her and held out his hand in an attempt to shake hers. She didn't budge. He then finger-gunned her awkwardly, which she found odd, then turned around and left.

She remained at her seat until she heard her office phone ringing. Her assistant informed her that Oliver Queen canceled all of his remaining appointments. She really wasn't surprised, and if she had to be honest, she was a bit relieved. She didn't want to waste any more of her time, and the Queen family's money, on someone who didn't take her seriously and who kept lying to her. She would use her time to help those who really needed her help.

She had already forgotten about the whole debacle given her schedule and she was focusing on other patients. One patient in particular was taking the most of her time, telling her stories about his encounters with a man in a dark green leather suit, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, putting arrows in the crooks of Starling City after dark. She had heard stories and news about the vigilante with the bow and arrow, but it wasn't something she was really interested in.

It wasn't until after two months that she saw Oliver Queen again. St. Walker's Hospital, where she used to intern, was throwing a charity ball and she was invited. She really wasn't the type to attend charity events on her own where the rich and the famous of Starling City would be in attendance in abundance, but her mentor had personally invited her and she wanted to contribute to the hospital.

She was standing at one corner with a glass of red wine in her hands when she met his eyes through the crowd. She immediately looked away and turned around. The next thing she know, he was walking towards her.

"Dr. Smoak, good seeing you here." he said as he held out his hand. Out of courtesy, she shook it with her free hand. "I didn't know you were a charity ball attendee type of a person."

"I didn't know you were one, either." she replied. She didn't look at him, but looked at the person standing behind him. There was a tall man standing close, looking around discreetly. The suit he was wearing didn't hide his bulky physique. She figured out he was Oliver Queen's personal bodyguard, she had heard of her assistant talking about him before.

"So, are you enjoying yourself, Dr. Smoak?" he said. Before she could answer, they were interrupted.

"There you are." she heard a feminine voice, addressing him. She turned around to see Laurel Lance, whom she recognized from articles about him. "I thought I lost you, they were looking for you for the speech." Laurel Lance paused and acknowledged her. "I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Laurel, Oliver's girlfriend."

He pressed his lips tightly and pulled Laurel close to him. Before she could open her mouth to introduce herself, he spoke. "This is Ms. Smoak. She is working at QC. She was helping me set up the routers at the club."

She was confused, she gave him a look. Her brows were knitted together, out of her will. She found herself nodding. She didn't try to correct him in order not to contradict him. She simply smiled and shook hands with her. A second later, he was nudging Laurel Lance towards the direction of the stage and they were gone.

When she was alone and he showed up at the stage with that smile plastered on his face, she opened her small purse and jotted down under her other notes in her cursive handwriting on her leather-bound notepad: _compulsive liar. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Agreeing to attend to therapy sessions wasn't amongst his plans when he lighted that signal fire with his arrow and found himself on a fisherman's boat, en route, albeit a long one, home back to Starling City. Five years he had spent on that island. Five years of struggle, of suffering, of survival. He knew every inch of the island like every new scar on his body. He had one goal in his mind that helped him make it through the day. Finally when that day came and he found himself looking at his hometown through the windows of a hospital room, he knew what he had to do. He would right the wrongs of his father and everyone who had failed his city. He would forge himself into a weapon and go after the corrupt to save Starling City.

The doctors who examined his body clicked their teeth and nodded their heads. He didn't have to be a genius or a psychic to understand what they were thinking. They thought that it was a miracle he was still alive given the broken bones that healed over time, the wounds that left scars. He knew it in his core. It was what made him stronger.

He eavesdropped on his primary doctor telling his mother that 20% of his body was covered in scar tissue, that he wasn't the same man who left the city on a boat five years ago. He knew what he was. He could still remember in vivid detail every incident that left a scar on him. He could still feel the air, the humidity of Lian Yu on his skin. He still could feel blood on his calloused fingers. When he looked in the mirror, he still could see his long hair tangled in knots, his untamed beard.

What he didn't know was that his family insisted that he go on therapy sessions to help him ease the trauma of what he went through for five years.

He should have expected it. There was no way it would be acceptable for a person to live a normal life after losing five years – not that he knew what normal meant anymore. If he was honest with himself, he would agree that he was troubled; he had nightmares about the island every night. He was afraid one day he would wake up and find himself back on the island, realizing all of it was a dream, that Lian Yu was his reality and that his life back in Starling City was the dream.

He was just starting his path to become what the city needed to save itself. He had been donning his leather suit and putting arrows and crossing off names from his list for almost two weeks now. He had a bodyguard working under the pretense of being his driver, even though he tried to avoid John Diggle in every chance he got. He was back hanging out with Tommy and was on, at least, talking terms with Laurel. He even had a hideout for his nightly activities and had plans to build a club to cover his tracks.

The last straw that led him straight to a psychiatrist happened when he learned about his best friend and his ex-girlfriend sleeping together after his "death" from his baby sister.

The very next morning, he found himself back at the hospital, sitting next to his mother, listening to his physician as he explained how he was showing the symptoms and that it was very likely that he was suffering from PTSD and that he needed a psychiatrist. His objections fell on deaf ears and the next thing he knew, the doctor was recommending someone called Dr. Smoak to his mother, who was apparently one of the leading psychiatrists in the city in the field. He couldn't say a thing. He smiled and nodded absently. It was fruitless to go against what the doctor said and it was pointless to further upset his mother.

His first appointment was on a Wednesday. Even though he had been making things hard for him, he obediently sat at the back seat of the town car as Diggle drove him to his psychiatrist. He watched the city around him, quiet during a work day morning. Starling City had changed so much in the five years he was away, but then again, he had too. That was why he wasn't keen on the idea of seeing a psychiatrist. A psychiatrist would try to focus on every detail of his change, trying to go into the depths of his psyche to pry his secrets and he wanted nobody to learn his secrets.

He entered the art-deco building, one of the last remaining of its kind, on the edge of the Glades with his head down, John Diggle following behind him. They took the elevator together and Diggle stood outside, at the corridor as he entered to the waiting room.

"I'm Oliver Queen. I've an appointment." he introduced himself to the red-haired secretary behind the desk with his trademark smile that was a part of the new persona he shared with the outside world.

The secretary did a double-take. "Of course, Mr. Queen. Dr. Smoak is waiting for you, please go in. You're late though, she doesn't like patients being late." the secretary said as she got up and walked him towards the door. She knocked on the door and opened it for him.

It was his time to do a double-take. He hadn't even considered the fact that his psychiatrist would be a woman. From what his doctors told, he assumed the psychiatrist would be a renowned old guy with white, balding hair at the end of his career, the type his family was used to, surrounded by rich mahogany furniture and diplomas. He expected his office would smell of cigarettes and old books and that he would use old words nobody bothered to use anymore.

He was wrong. Before him sat a woman with glasses, her blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a pink lipstick that matched her pink blouse. She placed her tablet on her desk and met his eyes. She looked younger than him and he found himself astounded. When he thought of a psychiatrist, the mental image conjured in his mind looked nothing like the beautiful woman now standing and walking towards him.

She tilted her head and held out a hand. "You are late." was the first thing Felicity Smoak said to him, and he later learned that it wouldn't be the last time.

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_**AN:** _Thank you so much for the incredible response on this story! As some of you mentioned, yes, I'm also posting this story on AO3. I have 5 chapters and am working on the 6th one now. The story is named after the beautiful song by The Head and the Heart. I also have a playlist, which you can find here: / /angelicafun/rivers-and-roads


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

Laurel Lance had always been on his mind. Her photo in his hands had given him hope when he was on the island. Her smile as she waved goodbye to him at the docks while her sister sneaked into the ship haunted him for years. Sometimes he thought that the island was his punishment for treating her wrong, for cheating on her numerous times, the worst with her own sister. She never wavered far from his thoughts.

It wasn't easy to get Laurel back. Through trial and error, he had managed to get back on speaking terms with her. There would always be a bitterness between them, there would always be words left unsaid that neither wanted to speak. She had pushed him too much despite knowing how he was and he had chickened out too easily. Things would never be the same again between the two of them.

They had too much history, he reasoned. The fact that Laurel had sought solace in his best friend's arms after his ship sank wasn't helping either. So they were back to trying to be friends. They had started as friends having met at a charity ball his family was throwing for the police task force. It only felt natural for him to invite her to yet another ball as his friend to support him while he gave a speech, and she was going to go anyway.

He entered the ballroom with Laurel in his arm, her dark blue dress matching his navy suit. Diggle was right behind them, scanning the room just like he was scanning it himself. The large ballroom was full of people dressed in elegant clothes. He looked right and left to see if he could recognize old faces. That was when he spotted his psychiatrist dressed in green, standing alone in a corner, looking around. Even though the charity was held for a circle of psychiatrists, Dr. Smoak looked out of place amongst her peers.

A lot had happened since the last time he saw her. He had canceled all of his appointments with her on a whim because he was tired of lying to her face constantly. There were times he would fail and end up telling her the truth. He would start with a memory from the island, telling her about the raindrops on his face, how the first fire he lighted warmed his hands. Then his lies would bleed into the truths and he would find himself giving her the plot of a TV show he had watched as a kid. It was hard to keep track of what lie he was telling. So when she asked him, in her most sincere voice right after her rambling, to tell her the truth, to share his memories from the island, he got on his feet and left.

Even after five years of hell, he was still the same person deep down. When things got too personal, he ran away instead of facing them. He had done the same thing by deciding to travel to China with his father when Laurel insisted on moving in together, and now he was doing the same thing to his psychiatrist. He was running away from uncovering what he went through on the island and was avoiding the one person who would not actually judge him upon learning the truth, even though it would solely be because of her job description. He knew tonight would be his chance to explain some things to her, or at least apologize to her.

As he walked closer to the crowd, he lost Laurel to some people he knew from his past as socialites and he was pulled from one side to talk to the rich of Starling City and fake enthusiasm. With his smile plastered on his face, he blocked the conversation occurring around him while simultaneously pretending to be an active listener. No matter how much he would try, his heart would never be in the discussion about the quality of the finger foods being served. Years had gone by yet the rich of the city were still the same, discussing how the hospital should be giving better food due to the fact that they were asking for donations. He wanted to make a comment saying the hospital wouldn't be asking for their money if they were able to afford caviar, but instead he turned around and met her eyes.

She was still in the same place, holding a glass of wine. When their eyes met, she looked away immediately, pretending she didn't see him. He excused himself from the group he was standing next to and made his way to her, his eyes never leaving her position. He held out his hand to shake hers when he got her attention and she complied, unlike that last time in her office. He was glad. He tried to make small talk, but he realized that she wouldn't give in easily. She looked at everything but him and seemed to be interested more in Diggle who was standing behind him.

He took his opportunity to examine her just as she had during their sessions. The color of her dress made him smile; he thought of it as his own inner joke. He was pretty sure nobody else knew his association with the color, yet it didn't stop him from feeling glad that it was a color his psychiatrist approved. Despite how calm and confident she always looked in her office, he could easily read that she wasn't particularly happy about being at the ball given her fidgeting; she was constantly tapping her middle finger on the stem of the wine glass. He figured she wasn't the type to attend to charity balls, so he told her.

Just when he assumed she would open up to him given the slight upturn of her pink lips, Laurel found him. She stood close by him, touching his arm and then with a smile she introduced herself as his girlfriend.

Of all the things he would imagine Laurel Lance saying, introducing herself as his girlfriend to someone she just met was the last thing he would expect. They were slowly making their ways back to being friends. She was now Tommy's girlfriend and the only reason she was there because he had asked her and she wanted to represent CNRI.

What came out from his mouth would later haunt him. "This is Ms. Smoak. She is working at QC. She was helping me set up the routers at the club."

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the confused look on his therapist's face and was grateful when she went along with his lie. He dragged Laurel away, using the excuse of the speech he was to give, and left Dr. Smoak alone abruptly. During his speech, he looked at her way, but she was long gone.

"That girl was nice." Laurel told him as they sat at the back seat, Diggle driving them to Tommy's apartment. "I'm sorry if I ruined something by introducing myself as your girlfriend, I was just being supportive."

"It's fine." he said through his clenched teeth. He couldn't decide to whom his anger was directed: Laurel or himself. Laurel had lied saying she was his girlfriend, which was something he didn't like or understand. On the other hand, he had failed to correct her and instead went on adding another lie when he said his therapist was working in IT in his company. What bothered him the most was why lying to his therapist was bothering him that much given his various earlier lies, but he wouldn't admit that to himself. "Just don't tell Tommy you called yourself my girlfriend."

"Of course." she replied with a smile. "Thanks for the ride, Ollie. This was nice, we should hang out more." Laurel said to him outside Tommy's door.

Tommy opened the door just when he was hugging her goodbye. "Thanks for leaving her off, Ollie. For a second I thought you were never going to ring the doorbell. I've been standing behind the door for ages."

"Thanks for letting her coming with me."

"I'm here, guys. Stop talking on behalf of me." Laurel broke into their conversation. Tommy had his arm around her shoulders and the two of them together caused an emotion in him he couldn't clearly define. Seeing her yawn, he said goodbye to them and got back to the backseat.

He sighed as he got into the car. He asked to be driven home. He starting untying his bow-tie as Diggle started the car. "We'll go to Dr. Smoak's office tomorrow." he told Diggle and leaned back. He still had apologizing to do, but deep down he knew the real reason he wanted to see her was because Felicity Smoak would be the person to define his emotions.

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**A/N:** Thank you guys so much for the wonderful response to this!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Talk to me about anything you like."

Oliver Queen raised his head, turned and looked at her. "Is it really necessary that I lie here? Can't I sit at the chair?"

She was taken aback. She had had numerous patients during her time as a psychiatrist but nobody had actually suggested to sit down facing her. "Sure, sit wherever you feel most comfortable." she gave a quick reply.

He got on his feet, straightened his leather jacket and took a seat at the armchair facing her desk. "This is better." he said, looking at her. "No more island talk?" he asked and she shook her head in response. "Very well, then." He placed his palms on the table. After a few seconds of silence, which she took for pensiveness, he started. "I can talk about technology. When I left, touch screens were a rare commodity and now they are everywhere."

She pursed her lips, trying to hide her grin. As someone who deeply loved technology and its developments, she found it rather amusing that Oliver Queen would choose it as a subject to talk to her about. It was true, during the five years he lived away from modern life on a remote island, a lot of things had progressed. "It must be difficult for you to get accustomed. Netflix's online streaming didn't exist five years ago. Now, I don't know what I'd do without it."

"What is that?"

"Are you serious?" she asked him, but there was no change on his stoic face. "Um, it's basically like Blockbuster, but instead of going to a store to rent stuff and then pay heavy fees because you didn't return them on time, you just watch stuff online for a monthly fee. You get to watch 'Lost' whenever you want. I can't believe I am explaining this to you."

"It is really appreciated." he said as he moved towards her desk and picked up her pink pen, hidden amongst the black ones in her pencil holder. "You seem to like technology."

"I'm good with computers, yes." she nodded in response. "But we are here to talk about you. Tell me something." she said, but got no response. "Tell me about your sister."

He leaned back in his seat and started playing with the pen in his hands. "Well, she is a teenager now."

She smiled. "She was around 12 when you –"she paused, unsure how to phrase it. "The last time you saw her."

"She was interested in her dolls back then. Now it's boys and alcohol." he scoffed. "She would chase me all around the house, she would drive me insane. I called her Speedy. Once I found her hidden at the backseat when Tommy and I were going to a party. She would wear her hair in pig-tails, she would have bruises all over her legs from running around the mansion. She was quite the tomboy. Now she is…" he paused to gather his thoughts. "She is a woman now. It's hard to accept."

"Do you regret missing out on her growth?"

He put the pen back in the holder. "Of course." His tone was direct. "I should have been there. I should have been the big brother she needed."

"It was out of yours hands." she suggested. "Unless you were on that island on purpose. Which I am sure you weren't. I don't think anybody would be into staying on that island willingly."

He was smirking, which she found interesting. One thing she had observed about Oliver Queen during their newly resumed sessions was that he had a limited range of facial expressions. He usually looked sullen and serious, or just without any expression at all, but sometimes, some rare times, something would break through his façade and bring a different expression to his face. She liked that.

"I wouldn't recommend that island to anyone."

"You should write a review about that island on Trip Advisor, suggesting that it isn't family friendly and that the facilities are horrible."

"Maybe I should." he said, looking right at her. His looks carried an intensity that made her almost uncomfortable.

"How do you feel about your mother's new marriage?" She decided to change the subject. "You knew Walter before. Do you feel like he breached some trust between the two of you, or between your father and him by marrying your mother?" She was back to her business tone.

He sighed. "When I first met Walter, I was 19. He came to pick me up from the police station after bailing me out. Tommy and I had done something stupid again, got ourselves in trouble. I don't even remember what it was. My father was too busy, and rather sick of my juvenile actions, so he sent Walter instead. To be honest, I didn't make a good impression on him, rather because I was drunk and angry. I remember shouting at him for some stupid reason and I was sure he hated my guts. I guess you can never get back a first impression, can you?"

"I rather believe in seeing the best in people and getting to know them. I hardly ever judge people on that first impression." she offered, hoping he would hear the honesty in her voice.

"I wish I could believe that, too. I feel… it's like when I meet people, it's hard for me to avoid their judgment because my name travels faster than I do. In case you don't know, Oliver Queen means spoiled playboy in this city."

She leaned forward in her chair, started shaking her head. "I don't believe that." she started, her voice coming out louder than she intended. "I think at one point in your life, it was true. You clung to your fame and fortune and didn't care about anything or anyone else. I think that was easy, you didn't care about responsibilities. Then the island happened and I believe you changed." She paused to catch her breath. "I think you use that misleading perception as an excuse to avoid questions about what happened on that island and how it changed you. I think you find it easy, to keep that spoiled playboy image. I think you'd rather have people think that you'll go pee on the next cop than open up to someone." She saw him raise an eyebrow in question. "What? I read about you." she said, in her defense. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He just stared at her and opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"If you get up and leave now, I won't accept you back again as a patient despite how gorgeous the flowers you bring are. The ones you brought before are beautiful, I took them home."

"I won't leave." he said. "I know I was asked to see a psychiatrist to open up and talk about things, but I don't think I'm ready. I'm not sure if I'll ever be ready."

She nodded. "I know it's hard. That's why I am here. I'm here to listen."

"I appreciate it." he said, his lips forming a thin line. She tried her best to avoid eye contact.

"Well, you are paying me 250 bucks an hour to listen, so that's the least I can do." she said, then mentally wanted to kick herself. Yet when she saw him smile a real smile, she thought her lame attempt at a joke was worth it. "You got to let someone in at some point. You might as well start with someone you are already paying to help you."

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**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading and I appreciate all the support! I love reading comments! You can find the link to my fic-accompanying playlist on my userpage.


	5. Chapter 5

** Chapter 5 **

He figured it was a subconscious thing. After all, for the last couple of months, it was what they had been trying to do; trying to dig into his subconscious. When he woke up from his dreams, which were mostly nightmares or memories from the island, he would try his best to remember each detail and write them down on a leather-bound journal with invisible ink.

For someone who had been living his life according to plans he had made on the island, it didn't take him long to realize that there were things he couldn't plan beforehand. There were pieces on his chessboard that he couldn't control. No matter how hard he tried, when the time came, he ended up sharing his secret with John Diggle. He blamed his psychiatrist. After all, it was her who suggested that he needed to let someone in, someone he was already paying to help him. If asked, he would argue that her words were branded in his subconscious mind.

He wasn't expecting anything less than shock and resentment when he pulled his hood up and revealed his face to his bodyguard and John Diggle did not disappoint. His face told everything. Later when he would think on it, he would accept that anybody in Diggle's shoes would have given the same reaction.

His decision to out his secret to Diggle did not happen overnight. He had spent weeks observing him, examining their interactions, watching how he reacted to things. He also spent days over his computers, looking into his past. He learned about his military background and stumbled upon what happened to his brother. He thought he could use that as a leverage, as he himself knew very well that family ties and seeking out revenge were strong feelings.

Diggle did not disappoint him with the way he reacted but he also proved to him the importance of background research. To trust someone now, he needed to know everything about them before deciding whether they'd be a reliable asset for him in the future.

The online searches followed right after that. Typing his psychiatrist's name into search engines on the internet quickly became his preferred pastime when he found the time. Photos from various meetings and conventions she attended to popped up on his screen. She was a speaker in one photo, addressing a large meeting room, her hair in a ponytail, wearing a dark suit which contrasted with what she usually wore at their sessions. In another one, she was wearing a white lab-coat in what seemed to be a hospital room. At least fifteen articles written by her showed up, harboring technical terms he didn't quite understand. Her bio posted all over medical sites seemed to be copies of one another, underlining how she was the youngest psychiatrist in Starling City in her field of study. He knew, and was reassured by his family practitioner, that she was smart, but seeing with his own eyes that she already held a PhD degree at the age of twenty-five convinced him to the fullest extent. Felicity Smoak was practically a genius. Yet regardless of all the information he had on hand, he still wanted to know more.

It started out innocently when he decided to follow her red car on his motorcycle after their session one day. She was a careful driver, stopping at all the lights and signs where appropriate, never going above the speed limit which rather frustrated him. After following her for more than ten minutes, he gave up and decided to go back to the mansion.

The next time, he gave up after she stopped to pick up some Chinese food fifteen minutes away from her office and almost spotted him. He was standing next to his motorcycle when she got out of the restaurant with a bag and paused, looking at where he was standing across the street, then shook her head and drove off.

Then one night when he felt that he needed to clear his head after injuring himself quite badly trying to fight of five henchmen at the same time, he drove to her street in the suburbs, a twenty minute ride from her office, and turned off the engine before her townhouse. It was just another two-story in a row of houses with a porch. He didn't see her red car parked, but the lights were on with the plain-looking curtains tightly closed so he took off his helmet and just watched in full concentration.

"You have been looking at the wrong window for the last hour."

Despite being always aware of his surroundings, he was startled upon hearing a voice directed at him. He turned his head and was rather, for a lack of better term, shocked to see his psychiatrist standing before him in a purple coat over what seemed to be pajamas. "Dr. Smoak." he managed to say, not trusting his voice.

"I moved across the street a week ago. I didn't have time to go to DMV to get my address updated, just so you know, in case you did a search."

He shook his head, trying to slur over. "What? No. I wasn't." he started, then paused. He stood up and looked at her. "My friend Laurel lives in this neighborhood."

"Oh really?" She crossed her arms over her chest, tilted her head to one side. "I lived here for three years and I know everyone in the neighborhood. I didn't know there was a termite problem in my old house, but it's neither here nor there. I don't think I've ever seen your girlfriend here before."

He knew lying more wasn't going to save him. He should have known that she wouldn't buy them in the first place. He turned to look at the place she had pointed out earlier and saw her car parked outside then mentally scolded himself for not checking it in the first place. A wary smile surfaced on his lips. "Nice neighborhood. Do you know how much the rent is around here?"

She laughed despite herself and shoved her hands into her coat's pockets. "Good night, Mr. Queen. I'll see you on Wednesday."

He thought that he would walk her to her house, but instead she just ignored him, turned on her heels and moved away from him. He put his helmet on and started the engine. As he drove past, he saw her standing on her porch decorated with potted flowers, watching him. He blasted the engine on when he got off the residential area, going over the speed limit and threw himself to the shower when he arrived at the mansion.

He knocked on the door and entered before hearing the permission when he arrived at her office for their session on Wednesday. Her back was turned towards him and she was reaching up for a book on the top shelf of her bookcase. He stood at the doorway for a moment, watching her stand on tiptoes, her feet bare. She hopped and gave a few tries while scoffing. In long-legged strides, he came next to her and reached out for the book.

"Fuck." she shouted when their hands touched. Up until that second, he hadn't realized that she was wearing headphones and didn't hear him enter; nor that she had a tendency to curse. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to curse. I didn't hear you, and I wasn't expecting someone to just get the book for me." she said quickly, taking off her headphones. "You are tall. I - I noticed. Not because I was ogling at you or anything, I'm just stating out a fact." she paused and breathed. "You are tall. The sky is blue."

"And you aren't wearing any shoes." he stated, nodding towards her feet.

"I was just freeing my feet from the five-inch jail they were in while waiting for you. I don't have a weird habit of going barefoot. Not that you needed to know that. And usually I can reach and grab books on my own, but I guess the added five inches were helping there, right?" She took the book from his hands. She sat down on her chair and leaned down, what he presumed, to put her shoes back on. "So, tell me something."

He took his seat opposite to her desk. "I took your advice. I opened up to someone. Sort of."

"Ah, that's great." she said. He couldn't help but notice that she was beaming. "Does following me around town have something to do with that?" He didn't know how to react to her directness so he remained silent. She leaned back against her chair. "I understand that you really don't like to talk about things." she started, her voice soft. "I don't blame you, I can only imagine what you went through during those five years and probably talking about the island means reliving it and you don't want that. I just want you to know that I'm trying to help." She was looking right at him with a slight smile. "If you ever need to tell someone about your day, you can tell me. And it's not limited to our sessions, though it's better if you didn't wait outside my house to do so. You can just call me or whatever."

"I appreciate that." he said with a smile, and he really did appreciate it.

"Talking about the past will help. Think of it like a bow and arrow." she said, garnering his full attention. "For an arrow to move forward, it needs to go back on the bow. Or whatever the technical term is. Archery is stupid, I don't know what I'm talking about."

He was a bit offended about her comment on archery, but he didn't show it. For someone who was so familiar with a bow and arrow, he had never thought about how relevant it was in life. For him a bow and an arrow were means to survive and fight, not a metaphor for life.

He had certain truths in his life: his family mattered, his friends mattered and it was hard to trust people after all he had been through. He was trying to right the wrongs of his father and other people who corrupted his city with his bow and arrows. He kept his nightly activities from his daily life. He had a club to run. He was trying to open up to people - Diggle was the first step. He was allowing in room for things he couldn't control. He had a reputation to keep up with as Oliver Queen and a reputation to build as the Hood. He knew that anyone who connected the Hood to him would react in the most negative ways. Which is why Felicity Smoak shocked him once again when she found out his identity.


	6. Chapter 6

** Chapter 6 **

Her twenty-one year old self had a point, she reasoned in hindsight. It was never a good idea to go clubbing and she was proven right again. It was just against her nature, she had grown to accept. She didn't like the idea of wearing tight clothes to expose herself to go to a dark place full of strangers, with no room to breathe or move, unable to hear anything but an annoying music with the loudest of bass coming from the speakers, but she hadn't been out in months and she definitely needed some alcohol in her system after the week she had, listening to her patient obsessed with the vigilante nicknamed The Hood session after session.

She was surprised to receive a message from her assistant informing her that Gina Petrelli had called when she came back from lunch on Thursday. Right after her session ended, she picked up the phone. Only after hanging up on Gina that she realized what she had agreed to do, but it was too late to cancel. She would go home after her latest patient on Friday and change clothes, then meet Gina and her roommates to go to a happy hour, only to go to their house to get ready for the night.

She had met Gina during her junior year as an undergrad when they were roommates for a month before Gina decided to move in with her boyfriend she had been dating only for two months. Gina was fun and full of life and since her parents were paying for her tuition, she didn't mind spending every night out, not caring about her studies. Felicity Smoak had missed only one exam in her life, and that was during the month she spent as Gina's roommate. She had been able to keep her scholarship after basically begging to her professor to allow her to take the exam later, but she had learned one important lesson: she would never step into a club ever again.

Then there she was, waiting in a line outside Club Verdant, watching Gina trying to charm the bouncer into letting them inside. The short dress Gina made her wear was not covering her against the chill of the night no matter how many times she shuffled and pulled the edges of the thin material down her legs in an attempt to warm herself. She was grateful that she had had the sense to grab her bomber jacket before leaving her house.

She was thinking about her last summer, spent in Italy, hoping the memories of the sunny streets and the feeling of the warm breeze on her skin would help her warm a little when suddenly two of the bouncers came next to them.

"Ladies, please follow us."

They gave looks to one another in confusion and curiosity as they followed the bouncers through the red-velvet ropes and into the club. There had been already some twenty people before them in line but their IDs weren't even checked and the bouncers left after bringing them to the VIP section.

"What did just happen?" Gina shouted in her ear as they sat on the comfy couch, sipping the drinks that came out of thin air.

"I have no idea." Felicity shouted back, shaking her head in accompaniment to make sure Gina understood her through the noise. Through the dimness and the blinking lights of the dance floor, and wishing she had her glasses on instead of her contacts since she believed the glasses made things easier for her, she looked around to see that they were the only group sitting in the VIP section. Exactly a minute later, it dawned on her why they were let in when she saw her patient walking towards her, wearing a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled.

She immediately got on her feet and walked towards him, getting out of the VIP section before Gina or the others could make a comment. As their eyes met, she suddenly felt self-conscious about the dress she was wearing, given that ever since they met each other, she had always been in her professional clothes ranging from the usual pencil skirts and shirts to business-style dresses. She always had the slightest bit of make-up, hidden behind her glasses. She felt that all of their professional, psychiatrist-patient relationship was thrown away the second Gina dragged her out in that dress. Then again, she figured that she should have known better than agreeing to go to the club her patient owned.

"I guess you are the one I should be thanking to." she told him when they stood before one another. She realized he hadn't heard her when he stepped into her personal space and leaned towards her. She ended up repeating herself into his ear.

He nodded. "I saw you from the security cameras." he answered, his mouth directly next to her ear, his breath tickling her neck. She tried ignoring their proximity. "I didn't think you were a clubber."

"I'm not." she shouted. "I really hate clubs. I'm not trying to offend you or anything because obviously you like them since you own one. I just don't like them. They are loud and dark and expensive. I appreciate the free drinks you sent us though. I think you sent them? I'm not sure actually, anybody could have sent them. I'm not trying to assume that you are that gentleman from the bar, you know, like that 'compliments of the gentleman from the bar' thing, not that I don't think you are a gentleman." she paused. "Okay, I'm going to shut up now."

He was laughing. Oliver Queen was genuinely laughing. She couldn't hear him laugh actually, but the way his face was relaxed with his mouth open wide and how his head bobbled made her smile. From the corner of her eye, she saw his bodyguard standing behind them. He followed her eyes and saw his bodyguard, then looked at her. Stepping once more into her personal space, he leaned in and excused himself. Just before she left to go back to her group, he came back. "I'm really sorry Dr. Smoak, but something came up. I'll see you on Wednesday?"

She nodded with a smile and watched as he disappeared into the crowd. When she went back to their seat at the VIP section, she saw that only one of the roommates, the one she didn't talk to before was remaining. "Where are the others?" she shouted, only to watch the roommate, whose name she actually didn't know, point to the bar. She followed her finger and saw Gina and the other two girls talking to a group of guys.

She scoffed and gulped down the drink that appeared to come out of nowhere. The music was too loud, the blinking lights were about to give her a migraine, her friend had ditched her for cute guys, not that she blamed her. From her past experiences, she actually wasn't expecting any less from Gina and her education told her that Gina's nature was the kind that would not change.

Taking one final look around, she got on her feet, grabbed the jacket she had discarded on the seat and moved to leave. She thought Gina or at least her roommate that was left at the VIP area would come to stop her, but then she was out already, looking for a cab and nobody followed her.

Given it was a Friday night and she was outside the most popular club in town, she thought there would be cabs lining up outside, but there were none. She scolded herself for leaving her car outside Gina's building and agreeing to get a ride from her. She should have known what the night would bring given her previous experiences with Gina: she would either be left behind or become the designated driver.

She called a cab company but was told that the earliest car would arrive in thirty minutes. She couldn't wait half an hour in her heels in the cold. For a second she thought about going back in and waiting on Gina and the others, but then made up her mind to walk to the main street only a few blocks away and try her chance at finding a cab there even though she knew it wasn't the best idea in the world to be walking alone in Glades after dark.

She walked in steady steps, checking around in discretion without lifting her head to be aware of her surroundings. The street seemed to be empty, the only sound audible was her heels clicking on the pavement. She could see the main street's lights from an alleyway that seemed to cut through the block. Wrapping her jacket around herself even tighter on impulse, she walked faster.

My twenty-one year old self had a point, she thought to herself when she heard those four words only steps away from the main street.

"Give me your purse."

She stopped dead at her tracks, a chill suddenly taking over her entire body. Even though she analyzed emotions and human actions for a living, for a second, she didn't know how to feel or act. It felt like her limbs had a mind of their own as she held her arms up in surrender and turned around. She never thought she would ever see the barrel of a gun, but there she was, facing the end of one. "Please." The word came out of her mouth in a way she didn't know how to describe. She couldn't fathom if she was pleading or simply saying something out to have her voice heard.

Her would-be assailant stood rigid and shorter than her ten feet away, holding his gun with one hand and motioning her to walk to him with his other. "Give me your purse." he repeated, his voice disguised by the ski mask over his head.

"Please." She found herself saying once again as she stepped closer to him in small steps. Her tiny purse didn't hold anything of value except from her cell-phone and the keys of a car parked outside a building miles away. Thoughts ran through her head. One idea was to run since she was so close to the main street, but she didn't want to cause any trouble and put herself in danger. The man repeated his four words in an urgency.

The other four words she heard changed everything.

* * *

**_AN:_**Thank you all for reading and your kind reviews! I am sorry I don't reply all the reviews (because the PM system on is strange), but don't think that I don't appreciate them!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Leave that woman alone."

It came as a roar. She didn't see to whom the voice belonged, but she could see the fear reflected on her assailant's face. His hand holding the gun started shaking. She thought it'd be a good time to try run but her legs didn't seem to move. Instead, she found an arm holding her and the next second, her back was pressed against a chest, an arm wrapped on her neck and the gun she hated to look at now resting on her temple. She had talked to people who had been in such situations. Her training had taught her what to do. She had helped people recover.

As she stood there, unable to move, she felt like nothing she knew had ever prepared her for the real thing. She felt utter terror for the first time in her life. The cold metal against her temple made her forget all about the cold she was feeling earlier. Tears stung on the corner of her eyes. Then she saw him. He stepped through the shadows and she realized what her patient had been telling her about him had all been false.

He stood before them, tall and impressive, dressed in green leather so dark it almost looked black. He had a hood covering his head and over his eyes, leaving a shadow over the rest of his face that made it impossible to see his features. He was pointing an arrow at them and while she thought archery was stupid, it was still deathly, but somehow his weapon of choice made her feel safe. Or maybe she felt safe because the arrow was not actually aimed at her but at her assailant who was still holding the gun against her temple, threatening her life.

"I'll shoot her." said the guy behind her. She whimpered and struggled against him. She could feel his body shake behind her, but he didn't budge.

"Okay, easy." The words spilled from her mouth, aimed at her assailant. "You don't wanna hurt me, and you sure don't want an arrow in you." she said in a soft voice, her negotiation skills coming in place at once. "Nobody needs to get hurt. Just let me go and he'll leave you alone." She looked at the Hood. "You won't hurt him if he lets me go, right?"

Even though she didn't know him and he didn't know her, she wanted the Hood to cooperate so that the three of them would leave that alley without a scratch. Knowing the Hood's repertoire, both from news and from her patient obsessed with him, she thought her chances to get through him and allow him to let a criminal go away unharmed were slim to none. Yet she hoped he saw the look of understanding on her face. When he lowered his bow, she knew she succeeded.

"So, I'm going to count to three and you are going to lower your gun and let me go, and Mr. Hood here won't hurt you." she said. She took a deep breath. "One. Two."

Before she could even say three, the alleyway shook with a loud bang and the unfamiliar noise coming from an arrow hitting its target. The arms holding her were no longer in the same place. She was pushed by a force so sudden and strong that she lost her balance and had to find her footing. On instinct she covered her head with her hands and gave herself a second to catch her breath before examining what exactly happened.

She opened her eyes and saw that the Hood was standing only a step away from her, while her assailant was on the ground, wailing in pain.

"We need to get away from here." The Hood's voice broke her momentary absentmindedness. "Come on." He put a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

She jerked away immediately. "You shot him!" she shouted. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Well, he shot me, too." he grunted.

She hadn't notice that he had his hand on his shoulder, holding it there tightly. "You're shot." she muttered, her hand going over her mouth, walking towards him in shaky steps.

"It is nothing." he breathed. "Let's go Dr. Smoak."

She halted right before him and wrapped her arms around herself. "How do you know my name?" she asked, her eyebrows knit together. That question changed everything.

"Because you know mine." he said and lifted the hood covering his face. She felt her blood freeze in her veins. The green paint over his eyes did not hide his identity. Oliver Queen, her patient stood before her.

"Everything about you just became so clear. Sort of."

"Come on." He held out his gloved hand and she took it, following him through the darkness. She could hear sirens as they rushed through other alleyways and darkened streets until she realized they were back at the club she had left. With one arm he pushed a trash can that revealed a door and opened it, nodding her to enter through. Just when they entered inside and he closed the door behind them, he collapsed on the floor.

"Oliver." She was kneeling next to him in the dark on instinct before she even acknowledged what was happening.

"The keypad." he pointed to a small box with glowing buttons. He muttered four consecutive numbers, which she thought didn't make a good passcode, and she entered them then heard the click coming from yet another hidden door. "Diggle is downstairs."

Taking off her heels and leaving them next to Oliver Queen, she pushed the heavy door and ran down the metal stairs leading to a darkened room. The rest of the night was a whirlwind as she faced yet another gun due to Diggle being on alert at a stranger entering their secret lair, helped him pull out the bullet from Oliver's shoulder and had a scare when Oliver passed out and failed to wake up.

Three hours later, she was sitting at a chair before a desk featuring not the best of technology in computers, Diggle's over-sized jacket covering her body, staring at the bloodstain on her hands. She thought about how she needed some time alone to really think about the night's events as she listened to the beeping noise the heart monitor made.

"How long have you known?" She revolved around in her chair.

John Diggle walked towards her. "Only a couple of weeks." he answered as he stood next to her. "He just revealed himself one night. Before that, he kept feeding me lies and tried to trick me every chance he got."

"He is a chronic liar." she nodded. "Not that I should be discussing with you now. Doctor-patient confidentiality."

"You don't have to discuss what I already know. He has trust issues. God knows what he went through on that island."

"Yeah. Five years on an island, away from everything and everyone he loves." She got up on her feet and walked towards the metal operating table he was currently lying on in the impromptu medical bay. She couldn't help but eye the scars covering his body. She had read about them in his medical files, but seeing them with her own eyes made them real. They revealed that he was not alone on that island, given that they didn't look self-inflicted. She wondered when he would ever be ready to talk about the terrors he faced there. The fact that he trusted her enough to reveal his biggest secret gave her hope that he would be willing to talk about his lost five years. "Why did you decide to join him?" She turned back and asked Diggle.

"Because a soldier always helps another soldier." he replied, looking down at the floor. "I don't necessarily agree with his methods, but I understand what he is doing and it needs to be done. This city needs someone like him, someone to save it from itself."

"You were a soldier?"

"I was. I served three tours in Afghanistan." he answered.

"Then you can understand what he is going through."

"He needs someone to keep him grounded." John Diggle looked at her, then at the unconscious body of Oliver Queen. "I've been where he is. It's hard. And he is trying hard to hide it." he paused, turning to look at her. "I think you are helping him a lot, too. He changed since he started going to your sessions."

"I don't think I am doing a good job." she admitted. "Here I'm in his secret lair, his blood on my hands, wearing your jacket." She got on her feet and walked towards the display of various arrows. She picked one up and twirled it in her hands, feeling the cold of the metal against her skin. Just one of them had saved her life only a few hours ago. "Does anyone else know?"

Before Diggle could answer, they were interrupted by a moan coming from the other end of the room. They both rushed to his side, to find him awake and looking at them through bleary eyes. "I guess I didn't die. Again."

"How are you feeling?" Felicity asked out of concern, not hearing the laugh of relief coming from Diggle. She hesitated to put a hand on his forehead to check whether he had fever, but kept her hands to her sides instead.

He hissed in pain as he tried to lift himself up. John reached out to help him then covered him with a blanket. "I've been better." he replied. "Thank you, Dr. Smoak." he held out his hand.

She looked at the hand he was offering then at him. "You are welcome." she said as she put her small hand into his much larger one. "It's Felicity. I think we are beyond formalities now that I have your blood on my hands. Literally." He gave her a weak smile. "I should be going. I have errands to run early in the morning tomorrow."

"Let me give you a ride." Diggle offered. "I wouldn't want you to go around dark alleys once again."

"That would be great." she answered. "I will see you Monday." she said to Oliver.

"I thought our sessions were on Wednesdays?"

"Yes, but this whole night… I think we need an emergency session." she tried to explain. "I think this saved us from at least three awkward sessions, though."

He was smiling, holding the gray blanket tighter. "Is that your medical opinion?"

She looked at him, rather surprised that he still was able to make jokes given the state he was in. She smiled despite herself. "No." she replied, trying the repress the smile from getting bigger, and saw his face drop. "At least four sessions."

* * *

Notes: **Sorry for the delay. I received one comment that kind of made me change the way I look at the story (and kind of left me disheartened to be honest), but it is back and I finally have an idea where I am going. Hope you like it! Leave me a comment!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

His shoulder winced as he got out of the car. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath for a moment as he stood outside the building. Despite John's insistence, he had foregone taking painkillers. It hadn't even been deep, but his new wound that was a new addition to his collection of scars hurt every time he moved. He wanted to spend the day in bed for a change, but he had an appointment he couldn't miss, especially after everything that happened.

Diggle didn't follow him into the building, remaining in the car. Ever since they became partners, he was now more trusting and not following him everywhere, which Oliver appreciated. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Diggle's presence; it was more of the fact that sometimes he just needed a breather away from his persona as Oliver Queen, the billionaire who needed a bodyguard whereas he could disarm anyone with a fist or a paperclip with ease.

He took the stairs to the fifth floor office instead of the elevator and entered into the office. The waiting room was empty and the secretary who spent most of her time in his presence trying to flirt with him was nowhere to be seen. He walked around, looking at the plants and took a seat at the leather couch he had his eye on from earlier.

"Oliver."

He got up and walked towards Dr. Smoak who had just stepped out from her office into the waiting area, holding a book. She had her hair in its usual ponytail and he, for a second, thought about how different she looked on Friday night. "Dr. Smoak." he greeted her but when he saw her tilt her head, he corrected herself. "Felicity."

"Thanks for coming in so early. I realized I forgot to tell you the time. I didn't know what my schedule was like. Then again, I never really know it. I don't have many patients on Mondays. I guess people don't want to talk about their feelings first thing in the week." she paused. "Go inside, I'll be there in a sec." she pointed towards her office.

He walked in and took his regular seat before her desk and looked around while he waited her arrival. The dark wooden bookcase featured a number of hardcovers books, ranging in colors, and topics rather unfamiliar to him. On one of the below shelves, he spotted a framed photo of a brunette girl in a graduation cap, holding something in her hand with a smile on her face, only to realize that it was Felicity herself. She looked different with dark brown hair and without glasses, but the smile on her face was the same. His mind called up the blurry vision of her looking down at him with concern and then a smile when he came to himself lying on that cold, metal table. His desire was to take a closer look at the photo, but just as he attempted to get on his feet, she entered the room.

"Sorry about that, I needed my coffee." she said as she walked past him and took her seat at her desk. "Here." She handed him a mug. "My assistant arrives late on Mondays so I have to deal with the coffee on my own."

"Thank you." He took a sip. "This is really good."

"Coffee is one of my life's simple luxuries." she beamed. "How is the shoulder?"

"It has seen better days." He placed his hand on where the wound was.

"I can prescribe you something to help with the pain, if you like."

"No, thank you." he replied. "I'm very particular about what is that I put in my body."

"I've… noticed." she said, then clamped a hand on her mouth. "I said not noticed, right?" He burst out laughing. "Hey, don't laugh! I don't talk like myself when I am around you." she protested. "Which is actually why I called for this emergency session."

The seriousness of her face, as opposed to the momentary embarrassment, made him stop laughing and clear his throat to get back into business mode. Even though the woman sitting opposite to him knew his biggest secret and was his reluctant confidante, she still was his psychiatrist on official terms and that required a level of seriousness and professionalism. "Oh, okay."

"So…" She took a breath. "About last Friday."

"Should I be the one to do the talking?" he asked, sounding unsure of himself.

"We didn't make the news." she claimed before he could continue. He looked puzzled. "I checked all the newspapers and the internet and there was no mention of an inappropriately dressed blonde being saved by the Hood." That garnered a small smirk from him. She pursed her lips. "I am glad you revealed yourself to me. I said it explained, it being you being the Hood, a lot of things and I was being truthful." she paused, looking directly at him. "Oliver, this is your way of dealing with everything that happened to you on that island. I don't know much and you are carefully avoiding everything about it and I'm not sure if you will ever be ready to talk. I just want you to know that I understand. I understand perfectly." He had his head bowed down but was looking at her without breaking any contact. "This is your version of survivor's guilt. You lost your father on that island and spent five years doing god knows what, and you suffered, you suffered a lot and now you are back. I think you are going after the corrupt of the city and helping the helpless because you feel guilty you survived the shipwreck and the island while others couldn't. To be honest, this is quite an extreme case of survivor's guilt, but it means at least you are dealing with it."

She paused for a moment to watch him. He remained in the same position and looked ashamed. He had nothing to be ashamed for, in her opinion, but she deducted that it was because she was probably the first person ever since he got back to tell the facts directly to his face. It wasn't uncommon for patients to look shameful or confused during self-reflection.

"You also have PTSD, obviously. It doesn't require a PhD degree to tell that. The nightmares you have, that one time you woke up with your hands around your mom's neck? These are all signs of it. But Oliver, when I saw you in that costume that night, holding that bow, I never saw you more in control." She shook her head from one side to the other. "Over the time I've known you, I've witnessed you slipping from persona to persona." That seemed to gain his attention as his body language suggested denial. "Oliver, don't deny it. We talked about it before. You play this billionaire playboy persona to the outside world because that's how you want them to see you so that they won't be suspicious of you."

"I'm not denying it." he said, his tone low.

"Good." she nodded. "Because I think that being the vigilante is somehow therapeutic for you, even though you…" she paused, not wanting to use the word 'kill', trying to find another way to define his actions. "You have a way of dealing with the corrupt in the city that not everyone agrees with and it is against the laws. You could be imprisoned for the rest of your life if the police ever caught you." He looked at her, his lips closed tightly. "I'm not saying that I am against what you are doing. You are surviving. You are fighting the evil in this city even if that means sacrificing yourself. You saved me, you saved my life. I – I still don't know how to thank you for that."

"And you saved my life." he muttered. "Digg told me that I lost a lot of blood and that you helped him a lot."

"I did what I had to do." She took a deep breath and looked away from him. She exhaled as she leaned back on her chair, twirling to one side slightly to ease the sudden anxiety building up inside of her. She was about to do that one thing she didn't like about her job, one thing she had only done one other time so far in her career. "I can't continue being your psychiatrist."

Oliver Queen jumped on his feet, a reaction she hadn't expected. He clenched his fists and placed them to his side. "Why? I know I haven't been the best patient but I am willing to try."

"Oliver, this isn't because of that. This has nothing to do with you missing your sessions or avoiding talking about the island." She also got on her feet, took a hesitant step towards him. "We are supposed to have a specific type of a relationship in this office. There is a line drawn between what I need to know and don't and how we should act. I'm afraid that line has been crossed now." She moved closer to him. "I don't think I'm doing a good job with you."

"I don't believe that." he said, looking down to her face.

"I don't know if you are trying to compliment me or trying to make me change my mind, but it's not gonna work. Oliver, I know your biggest secret. It would have been okay if you confided it in me during one of our sessions but the way I learned it, it makes things complicated. I shouldn't have gone to your club. You shouldn't have seen me dressed the way I was. I shouldn't have been at that alleyway."

"Do you regret that you know… what I am?"

"No." she immediately protested, lifting her hands. "You are who you are, Oliver Queen, not a thing. Your nighttime activities actually make it easier for me to understand many things about you." She turned her attention to that painting she had bought for her office with the first paycheck she had ever received from a patient, a painting depicting a woman with her back turned, looking over a meadow. "I am not good for you as a psychiatrist." She felt him stand behind her. "I can recommend someone else. Someone who can actually help."

"I was told you were the best with this."

She sighed as she turned on her heels slowly. "Apparently I wasn't. I thought I was, but you never know how you are at something unless you fail, right? I mean, you are pretty good with bows and arrows and randomly showing up in unexpected places, but I guess that has something to do with what you do? I'd like to think you had some practice on the island. I saw the muscles. The abs." She stopped. "I didn't mean to say that. See, you make me… babble. I don't usually do that. I used to do that a lot. Then I became a psychiatrist and stopped it."

"Is that the reason you are dropping me as a patient? Because I make you babble?"

She wanted to admit that it was a part of it, but she didn't want to make it about herself. "No." she argued. "It is because you have PTSD and you need the best care. You need somebody you can talk with easily, to help with the nightmares, with the constant burden you put on your own shoulders. I- I…" she stammered. "I don't think you are getting the necessary help from me. I will recommend you to my peer, he has vast experience with war veterans and grief counseling, he will be able to help you." She stepped away from him and moved to her desk. She opened up her tablet and looked through her contacts. "This is his number. I'll call him and say you'll be seeing him. Promise me you'll go see him."

He looked at her, defeated. His lips were in a thin line. "I promise." he gave in.

"Thank you." she smiled at him. "Your secret is safe with me, I won't tell it to anyone. I promise you. I mean technically everything I know about you is guarded by patient-doctor confidentiality."

"I appreciate it." he said as he grabbed the paper she had written Dr. Alberto's information.

She looked at the piece of paper in his hand. She picked up her pen once again and scribbled down. "And this is my number." she said, handing it over. "I'm not giving you my number because I want you to ask me out or something. I'm not trying to imply anything. That would be unethical." she smiled nervously. "If you ever need to tell someone about your day, you can tell me. I'm just a phone call away." She looked and met his eyes. "Just because I can't be your psychiatrist doesn't mean I can't be your friend. If you are okay with it. I'm not forcing you to be friends with me."

He smiled at her and nodded. He was gone the next second. She stared at the now open door long after he was gone, then walked over to waiting room to see if her assistant was around.

"I didn't know Mr. Queen had an appointment." Eleanor said, looking over at her from her computer.

"It was unscheduled." she replied. "It was his last." she added and walked back in her office. The rest of her week was uneventful as she went through her usual patients.

It was a thumping that woke her up. She grabbed her glasses from her night stand and looked around. Her room was in the same state as she went to bed. She ignored the noise, took her glasses off and laid down, ready to go back to sleep, but the noise returned. Jumping on her feet, she picked her discarded cardigan from the floor, put her glasses back on and tried to figure out where the voice was coming from. When she was out of her bedroom, she realized it was coming from downstairs.

Through the darkness, she found the staircase and slowly made her way down the stairs, holding the railing tightly. She unlocked her front door and looked out but couldn't see anyone. It was when she got back inside and walked towards her patio door that she saw a silhouette. She reached out and slowly picked up her umbrella on the floor, raising it, ready to attack any moment. In careful steps, she walked towards the silhouette.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity." came the deep voice.

Oliver Queen in his vigilante costume was standing in her living room. She dropped the umbrella and walked to him. "You could have rang the bell or at least given me a call." she said. "Are you okay?"

He turned towards her and placed his bow on her couch. "Yes." he breathed. "I just wanted to talk to someone."

She placed her hands on her hips. "When I told you could call me anytime, I meant it as actually calling me anytime, not showing up in my house in the middle of the night." she said with a hint of sarcasm. "So, tell me."

It was the beginning of something else.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you all for your wonderful comments from the last update, I really appreciate it. I finally, finally know how I am heading out with this story so hopefully the updates won't be taking as long as they do now.

In other news, how amazing was that finale? These two are going to be the end of me, I don't know how I am going to make it until October. Talk to me about it!

I video-chatted with my friends for over 2 hours about it and I still have so much to talk about. He meant every word of what he said in the Mansion. There is nothing that would ever convince me otherwise. I think it was their plan to use Felicity as the bait so he was gonna drop her there and they were going to argue a bit to make it look realistic. I think the main idea was to leave Felicity vulnerable and alone, left behind as the one remaining member of Team Arrow, one that Slade had never interacted with. Then Felicity started arguing and the consequences of what might happen hit Oliver. I think he just wanted her to know how he felt in case anything happened to either of them, because the risk was too big, and if they made it both alive, he could just easily say that it was an act. I just loved it.

I have too many feelings, I'm sorry.


End file.
